


Inside, I'm made of steel

by SherlocksHolmie



Series: Inspiration [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, ballet!lock, rugby!john, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocksHolmie/pseuds/SherlocksHolmie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Sherlock Alternate Universe;</p><p>Sherlock Holmes boards at St. Jude's, an aspiring ballerina with a brilliant brain. John Watson resides in the same town, attending a state school and is the captain of their rugby team. The unlikely duo are brought together one morning by unlikely circumstances and their stories begin to weave together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pas-de-bras

It was 8:27am when the sun rose on the 19TH of January. As rays of light began to peak over the hill top, spilling over the small town below it became evident the weatherman had in fact been wrong once again. There was no ‘light rainfall’ the previous evening but heavy snowfall in its place. It was the kind of snowfall that would put half of the town out of commission for days. The kind of snowfall that stopped everything in its tracks. For a small town situated in a valley between two peaks there was no easy access for the monstrous grit machines, no public transport. Although, a morning from hell for most. It’s on this morning that our story began.

*     *     *

At one end of the town a mess of curls emerged from under the duvet. As long, pale limbs stretched and the boy in his bed yawned. He began to sit up, leaning heavily against the wall his bed was pressed up against in the small room as he registered the noise that had woken him up. There was a knocking on his door. The lanky boy slunk over to the door trying hopelessly to tame his wild hair, he gave up before he even reached the door. Upon grabbing the handle and wrenching the door open he was shocked to see a head of mousy brown hair behind it. ‘Ah, Molly Hooper.’ He thought. ‘Why must she grin so early in the morning?’

“Oh Sherlock, I have the best news!” he merely grumbled signalling her to come inside. “It snowed all of last night, half the staff can’t even get here!”

“Why did you feel it necessary to wake me up to share todays weather with me.”

“Sherlock. If you let me finish, lessons have been canc-“

“I rarely attend anyway. Molly, honestly leave me to sleep.” Sherlock interjects once more.

“Sherlock, I meant that we could spend today at the gym so we can begin choreographing our audition pieces. Mrs Hudson can’t get here today so she says the studios can be ours if we want them. I’ve already rang her and said I’ll take the first so you will need to ring her now before some snatches up her second.” Molly spoke barely taking a pause to breath, desperately wanting to remain uninterrupted so that it takes only a minute to explain something and not five. “I’m going to nip back over to my room and grab my bag. Should I meet you at the bus stop at eleven?”

Sherlock nodded once. “Yes. I’ll be there. Now leave, I need to shower first.”

Molly sighs but stands to leave all the same, Sherlock slowly coming around from his sleepy stupor feels a twinge of guilt, after all Molly was the only person on campus who would put up with his hostility. She was his only friend and deserves to be treat as such.

“Molly, I’ll bring the coffee.”

*     *     *

At the opposite end of the valley a small blond boy is awoken by a soft shaking sensation of his shoulders. As his eyelids blink furiously trying to adjust to the light that is streaming in through the gap in his curtains, his mother’s silhouette begins to come into focus. He sees her lips moving before he begins to process the words spilling from them.

“John, Sweetie. Wake up,” an impartial grunt is all she needs to know he’s responsive. “Greg ‘s been on the phone. School’s shut today, he says a few boys from the team are going to the gym and he says; and I quote – _Mrs Watson, you drag him out of his pit if you have to and tell that lazy sod he is coming to the gym whether he likes it or not-_ Unquote. So you better get yourself out of bed mister and go see your friends.”

“School’s shut?”

“Yep, it snowed like nobody’s business last night so you’ll be walking as well.” Mrs Watson threw the curtains apart to show her son the landscape usually consisting of luscious shades of green that is now resembles a blank canvas. However, the whiteness of the hillside only reflects the sunlight into the room so that it shines on John’s sleep creased face.

“Christ mum. A little warning would be great in the future.” The stout boy rolled out of bed, carding his fingers through tufts of blond hair, grumbling to himself about how bright the sun is…

“John Hamish Watson! Just because you’re seventeen doesn’t mean you’re too old to go over my knee,” there was a teasing tone to her voice so John throws her a sleepy smile “C’mon, hurry. Go get a shower, Greg’ll be here soon.”

*     *     *

The gym was a large square building in the centre of the town. It was similar to every other gym in England. Big windows, spacious, lots of equipment, frequent clients, not-so-frequent clients, and a small café for those who feel a Panini is well earned after hours of strenuous exercise. Due to the weather conditions the building was much quieter than usual, many people favouring their beds and cups of hot chocolate rather than walking for half an hour in snow up to your ankles just to lift some weights.

However, both Sherlock Holmes and John Watson attended today with their friends in tow. John was the first to the gym, accompanied by some of the rugby team-Greg, Seb, Henry and Anderson. Their plan was to train because they’ll miss their training for the next few weeks until they can get the field ploughed. With no other plans the boys will be spending their day in the gym making sure they’re in tip-top-shape for their next match. After a quick trip to the locker room swiftly changing and abandoning their bags the lockers the group of boys made their way back into the gym. During this time, Sherlock had arrived with Molly following close behind. Both of them still clutching the now mildy hot coffee cup to their bodies in a poor attempt to keep warm in the cruel weather. Sherlock doesn't bother with the changing room, instead he walks through the maze of machinery to the vacant dance studios towards the back of the building. Gliding effortlessly through the room adorned in his belstaff and favourite blue silken scarf he noticed an unfamiliar face in the room. A tanned face, with piercing blue eyes, framed with sandy blonde hair. The boy the face belonged to was short, muscular and Sherlock had to admit, completely gorgeous. The boy let out a stream of laughter his head tilting backwards slightly, revealing the expanse of his neck from the top of his training uniform and his beautiful teeth. Sherlock couldn't help but stare, soon he was to regret not looking away because the boy caught him staring. As he recovered from his friends joke the small blonde boy's eyes locked onto his own. The blue eyes catching his gaze caused a crimson blush to creep along his cheeks and the blonde blushed in return giving a polite nod before averting his gaze. Although it lasted for only seconds, it felt like hours, luckily Molly hadn't noticed, she was too busy oggling another member of this group and so he rushed forward avoiding detection into one of the studios leaving molly to make her way to the other.

Immediatley shutting the door behind him, Sherlock removed his precious coat and scarf hanging it on the hook beside the door, his leather gloves were next-placed carefully in the pockets of the belstaff. Removing his pants revealed the tights below, however he favored the black linen shirt in the chill of the day. Opening his back he removes his oldest pair of pointe shoes, if he is to walk back to the dormitories later this evening he will not be spending the day breaking a new pair. Next he sorts through the various CD's he has brought all holding compilations of classical pieces, except for one which was given to him by Molly this morning which was said to hold some lyrical pieces he could use to stand out in the auditions for the academy this year. However for a warm-up Sherlock favours a classical piece by Bach this morning, inserting the disc into the stereo and pressing play before walking over and placing a delicate hand on the barre.

 

John was standing by carrying put his duty as a spotter for Greg as he lifted his final rep on the weights bench before they were going to head to the cafe for a bit of lunch. Once the sound of metal hitting metal rung out, Greg was sat up right on the bench with his hands on his head taking deep breaths. "Bloody Hell, haven't lifted anything half as heavy over christmas. C'mon lets go find seb and them lot, I fancy a BLT." Once getting to the cafe their teammates had heroically ordered their food and it was sat waiting on the plates as they arrived. There were appreciative grumbles as the two boys tore into their sandwiches. After wolfing down his food, John was the first to finish and excused himself as he went over to get himself a quick cup of tea, treating himself after the mornings workout. Infront of him in the queue was a fragile girl with long brown hair, it was only then it clicked she was the girl Greg had been banging on about all morning. Even John has to admit shes unassumingly beautiful but he is much more invested in her companion. He overheard he order two drinks, and before he can even think he speaks, "hey, I-uh can take your friends drink to him, I'm heading back that way anyway for the toilet and that, plus you could sit and rest and everything." Oh dear God he was rambling. "Apologies, I never introduced myself. I'm John. John Watson and my friend Greg would very much like to speak to you while you drink your coffee." The girl just stood looking over his shoulder at the table where the boys were all sat, when she turned her gaze back to John she smiled, with a small nod she whispered "He's not like everyone else, look. What I- just be nice, he needs a bit of nice." She hands him a coffee cup, before the waitress hands him his own order.

"You've got absolutely nothing to worry about um, I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."

"Molly Hooper."

"Well Molly Hooper, you go over there and ask for my friend Greg, maybe then he'll shut up about that 'pretty girl who walked through this morning'" with a little wink he turned and made his way over to the studios. As he approached he heard the soft floating tune of a classical piece that he did not recognize coming from behind the closed door. With a polite rap of his knuckles on the wood he pushed the door open with his hip, peaking through the gap he had created. Stood with his back to the door he could see the head of curls tilting this way and that, his head following the movement of his arms.  _Oh his arms._ John stood mesmerized watching his lean, muscular arms ripple as they extend and curve creating the most perfect lines, painting the most perfect picture John had ever seen. Following the shape of his torso his eyes became stuck on the boys behind, which was as spectacular as his arms in John's opinion, and suddenly his head was filled with all sorts of thoughts about what he could do with the boy in front of him, he could easily crowd him against the wall or maybe lift his leg just so-

His train of thought was interrupted by a cough. Snapping his eyes up the reflection in the mirror showed a pair of eyes staring back into his own. Busted.

"May I help you? Or are you simply here to stare at my buttocks?"

"No, oh God no, not that I don't want to... I Just. Coffee. I brought you coffee."

"Ah, I assume it is Molly I have to blame for this interruption?" a small nod from John was all he needed. "She's a wonderful girl but she does like to interfere."

"Oh no, you've got the wrong end of the stick, er, mate. I offered, she didn't insist on anything."

The boy infront of him turned now, no longer was his face a reflection staring back at him but the real thing. His face contorted from his indifferent expression to one of confusion, his nose wrinkled and his brow furrowed as he searched for words. "You offered?"

"Of course I did. When I saw you this morning I knew there has to be something interesting about you so, here's your coffee. I'm John Watson." he extended his arm holding out one of the polystyrene cups out as an offering, the taller boy narrowed his eyes as they flicked back and forth over his face as if searching for an answer on the page of a book. Eventually his hand came to rest on the cup too, fingertips brushing as they pulled apart sending bolts of electricity up the boys' arms.

"Pleasure. The name's Sherlock Holmes." Only then did Sherlock's facial expression relax itself completely reliving himself of the suspicion he had for the boy, any worry, gone. He even forced a tight, closed lipped smile.

"No, The pleasure is all mine." John could only grin back.


	2. Le chemin du retour

Sherlock settled himself on one of the plastic chairs in the corner of the room, gesturing for John to join him. Before the blonde's bum had even made contact with the seat the questions began. "So Sherlock, I like the way your name sounds by the way. Anyway, how come I haven't seen you before? You visiting? From out of town?"

"No, I'm am a boarding student at St Judes. I'm assuming you are a student at the local high school? Heathcrofts. You clearly play for their rugby team, do you not?"

The smile that had been spread over John's features only became wider as his question was answered. "Oh _public_ school, I bet you're dead clever. Well you are otherwise how would you have known about my rugby..." John's eyes moved as if they were following his train of thought before they turned back to Sherlock's once more, narrowing. " _How_ did you know about my rugby?"

There was a disapproving snort "John, you're wearing the team's training uniform. I read the embroidery." A breathy laugh escaped John's lips and Sherlock continued "If I was trying to impress you I would simply have told you I know that you went to Heathcrofts, and you live on that side of town with your mum and sister and that your dad is currently touring in Afghanistan, possibly Iraq. Not only that but you walked here this morning and after missing breakfast you found the ham salad sandwich you had for lunch quite satisfactory." The words had rolled from his tongue as though there was no effort behind them at all, but every single word hit John like a freight train because every single word was the truth. No longer was John laughing, he was staring at Sherlock attempting to pick his jaw up from the floor. Sherlock, however, kept his ashamed gaze firmly on the floor.

"Fantastic," he grinned. "Bloody fantastic! God I'll never impress you after that. Jesus. How do you do that?"

"You found it impressive?" cautiously lifting his head he only saw John beaming back at him.

"Of course I did! You know all that from spending minutes with me. Christ, and to think I was about to play the  _I'm the captain of the rugby team_ card on you. That'll never work after that." John lifted his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh.

"John, I simply observed. You could do it if you were to use your brain. Where as someone like me would be of little use as a captain of the rugby team. Don't fret. You cannot help being an idiot."

"Is that your way of telling me you're impressed?" John wiggled his eyebrows.

*     *     *

The two boys spent the next few hours familiarizing themselves with one another. They chatted relentlessly, John learnt Sherlock had been sent away to receive a proper education before his family would let him follow his supposedly ridiculous dreams, but John didn't think they were ridiculous. He found the idea of Sherlock being a professional ballerina captivating and if he was to fail or when the times come to retire, he wishes to aid the police as a consulting detective. The clever sod had even created his own career path so that he wouldn't have to follow in his families footsteps. Over the next hour or so, John grew to admire Sherlock's independence. He was enthralled by the slightly-too-skinny, pale boy and the stories he told, he learnt of his vulnerability and the ways in which he suffered at school, targeted by relentless bullies, subjected to homophobic abuse. John had wanted to hunt down the Bastards that had hurt him in the past, and he was determined he'll be there to stop any one else getting within a hundred miles of him in the future. The boy he was talking too didn't deserve the torture, he was too unique, too beautiful. The way his curls fell around his face, framing his prominent cheekbones. The colour of his eyes were almost indescribable and always changing. John thought his lips were so kissable, the way created a perfect cupid's-bow shape to rest upon the plump bottom lip. He was a masterpiece, his beauty was indescribable, yet it caught his attention like no other had.

It was no secret that John was bisexual, he had come out over a year ago at school, his friends had been more accepting than he could ever have imagined. He was met with a clap on the back from Greg who insisted that in the future any discussions about attractive girls, whether they're in movies or from their school that they would include a few men for his sake. He wanted to tell the team it was unnecessary but the thought behind the gesture is what counted at the end of the day. Since then he had only been with one girl who'd got him off at his own house party after a successful match. Unfortunately the alcohol took over and John told the girl he wasn't actually that interested, consequently they went no further. Sherlock was much different from a girl who he sat behind in history, Sherlock was a like a power surge. Even as they sat together on plastic chairs, John could felt as though it was the most alive he had ever been and would ever be again.

Sherlock's sexuality was very different story. He had zero interest in women, none what so ever. He found males attractive but never did he have strong emotional feelings towards any. He had never had a boyfriend, he'd never even had his first kiss! The students at St. Jude weren't as understanding in the matter, despite coming from the most privileged households in the United Kingdom, the student body were extremely small minded. You would imagine those who would one day run the country would be more accepting of a male who has a thirst for knowledge but they were blinded by his interest in men and they couldn't see the boy past the tights he wore. Admittedly it made his life hell, but talking to John made him feel as though the years spent at St. Judes were non-existant. The small-minded bafoons he must share his life with were unimportant because John Watson had been the first person besides Molly to show any interest in the boy behind the tights. He didn't mind telling John about himself, he didn't mind telling John of his ambitions, of his past. He wanted to know more about what lay behind the blue eyes too. He questioned John relentlessly. He wanted to know what made him tick- _Closedminded people_ , what made him laugh _-Sarcasm_ , what his favourite book was- _Harry Potter_ , the kind of music he enjoyed- _'Alternative'_. He catalouged John's answers, never wanting to forget one thing about him, not wanting to forget the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled, the furrow of his brow when concentrating, the way his nose wrinkled in mock-disgust. He never wanted to forget the boy who he sat with nor the way he made him feel.  _Alive._ _  
_

Nobody had ever invested any interest into Sherlock's thoughts or feelings but John wanted to know all of his opinions and the reasons behind them. He wanted to know everything about Sherlock, the same way Sherlock wanted to know everything about John. Their eyes barely left each other the whole afternoon so to have to tear their gazes away from eachother was a challenge when there was a knock on the studio door.

It was Molly who popped her head around the door. "Sherlock, I'm just nipping into- Oh, hello John, didn't expect you to still be here..." John gave a polite nod hello and the two boys gave her a shy smile. "Erm, right. I'm meeting Mary in town and then were heading back to school, but I can see you're.. um, busy so I'll catch you later Sherlock." With a little wave she had gone. Only then did the boys realise they had spent the entire afternoon chin-wagging and decided it was best to make a move.

"I can't believe its almost five o'clock already! Look I'll go tell Greg and the boys to head home and grab my bag. Wait here. Okay?"

"Wait?" Sherlock inquired.

"Yes, I'm going to walk you home."

With that John slipped through the door, leaving Sherlock in the empty studio. John Watson wanted to walk him home. A boy wanted to walk him home. Someone wanted to walk him home. He pulled on his trousers and swapped the black linen for a white t-shirt and packing away his dance gear. After his quick change he ejected the CD he had been using for the morning and returned it to it's case as John reappeared, duffel bag in hand donned with the school logo. "You ready to go Sherlock?"

"Just a moment John." There was barely a sentence Sherlock would say to him without using his name, it wasn't for the sake of addressing him every time. He just loved the way his name felt across his tongue. And John didn't complain because he loved the way it sounded. He tugged the belstaff onto his shoulder and tightly tied his scarf around his neck before turning to face John again. Every time he looked at John it took his breath away, the colour of his hair, the hint of pink present in his cheeks, it was terrifying to feel so much all at once, but Sherlock wasn't giving up this chance all the same.

"Lets go John."

*    *     *

A few minutes into their journey, the boys realised the temperature was only continuing to decrease without showing any signs of improvement, so they decided it best to stop for a Hot Chocolate for the walk back. As Sherlock's dominant had was his right, his left swung freely beside him as they left the coffee shop John shifted his cup into his left hand favouring Sherlock's left-hand side in order to let their hands brush occasionally as they walked down the high street leading away from the gym. Each time knuckles brushed and fingers bumped, Sherlock would jump slightly unused to the attention John was determined to give him. It wasn't until they had made it away from the high street and into the residential area did John pluck up the courage to take his hand. He looked up at Sherlock, silently praying the boy wouldn't pull his hand from John's grasp. He didn't. In fact, Sherlock's fingers squeezed back, but his spine stiffened as he kept his gaze forward. The corners of his lips curving up.

John usually stayed at the opposite end of town, unless he was playing a match away in which case the mini bus would sometimes take the route through the posh end of town where the detached, six bedroom, four bathroom houses were. Where the future leaders of the country resigned in their summer homes. Where the cost of property was so high it made John want to feint at the thought of spending so much on a property. For the first time though, he felt as though he belonged here. Hand-in-hand with Sherlock, who clearly belonged at this end (for God's sake, his coat would have cost more than John's entire outfit alone.) It made John feel a sense of invincibility, because if he held onto Sherlock, nobody would second guess the peasant walking along side the palaces and as Sherlock held onto him, not one comment and not one dirty look from students milling about with sledges could break through the barrier.

The streets remained quiet for some time but as the sky got darker the air got colder, so neither boy complained when the space between them became smaller and smaller until it was non existant, with finger still intertwined they were now pressed shoulder to shoulder and if they were to turn their heads their noses would be rubbing together. But neither complained, if anything they pushed impossibly closer still, craving the warmth and impossible need to be closer together. Soon St. Judes dormitories came into view and Sherlock stopped, standing stock still. "John, I think it best we go no further together than here." It was then he wrenched his hands from John's to search in his pockets for a scrap of paper. John didn't just stood in a stunned silence. "Do you have a pen? no? no matter I should have one in he-Ah!" Sherlock began scribbling down a quick note before returning the pen to the pocket of his bag and handing the paper to John. "My phone number, if you should want it..." He looked up only to see John hadn't moved a muscle, with the exception of furrowing his brow, "what's wrong John?"

"I said I was walking you home."

"Yes and my building is just over there."

"Then we will walk over there." John took Sherlock's hand softly although his words were an order, not a suggestion.

Sherlock's insides began to squirm. "John, you really don't have to." John could tell that there was something he was hiding and he'd be damned if he was going to leave without finding out exactly what!

"Sherlock. I want to. Don't you?" The hurt in John's voice was enough to wound Sherlock as well

"John you mistake my urgency to leave as a lack of interest, I assure you I would very much like to see you again. Tommorow if it were possible. I am only protecting you..." Sherlock could no longer look at him, lowering his chin in defeat. He wasn't ashamed to be seen with John, quite the opposite, he would very much like to show him off to the entire universe. But he was afraid of the Sally Donovan's of the world, who insisted on following him across campus until he reaches the safe confines of his own room, yet he wouldn't always make it there, there would be days when he couldn't outrun the group of tormentors, days when they would kick all the colours of the rainbow out of him, days which he never, ever, ever wanted John Watson to see. It was only as he felt his free hand become covered by John's did he dare to look at him.

"Sherlock, is this about  _them?_ " the curls on his head quivered as he gave a nod. "Sherlock, that's why I'm walking you all the way to your door because I won't let one shithead lay a finger on you. Okay? I won't hold your hand if that helps? Christ, I'd remain six feet away at all times, but no way in hell are you walking home alone. Do we have a deal?"

"Okay" it was barely a whisper.

"Remember Sherlock. They. Don't. Matter. Not if you don't want them too." With a gentle push of encouragement on the small of his back Sherlock began to walk again.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Thankyou..."

John couldn't help but smile. "You're welcome."

"John?"

"Sherlock,"

"Can we- Can I hold your hand again?"

John didn't reply instead he just grabbed Sherlock's leather clad hand and intertwined their fingers once more.


	3. Mon protecteur

John slipped his hand Sherlock's own giving his fingers a deft squeeze. For the first time that afternoon Sherlock looked down at their joined hands, he noticed how John's short, chubbier digits fit perfectly between his slender ones. Smiling as he felt the squeeze he eyed his dormitory building across the campus. 'There's no time like the present' he thought as he tugged at the fingers joined to his own signalling for the smaller boy to follow. The John attempted to match stride with his companion but failed miserably as his legs were much shorter in contrast resulting in Sherlock slowing his pace significantly after being pulled backwards on numerous accounts. The once brisk walk settled into a gentle walk but Sherlock couldn't help but notice how their journey time would double and on campus, that was bad news.

Torn between his inquisitive side, the side wanting to keep this strange new boy around for as long as humanly possible and his instinctive side, the side which knew they would soon become prey to the vultures that were other students he forced himself to speak.

"John, do speed up," It was an almost request, more of a demand.

"Sherlock, stop panicking. You don't have anywhere to go do you? Relax" His soothing voice was accompanied by yet another squeeze of the taller boys fingers.

"It's not that I have other plans..." He turned his head too-and-fro watching the people around them, "It's just, I. Well. You know, I'd rather not get into an argument today."

Just like that, a young girl with unruly black hair grabbed onto Sherlock's forearm and swung the unsuspecting ballerina around. However as he had been previously latched onto John the manoeuvre was anything other than graceful as the shorter boy stumbled into him knocking them both sideways. Before the boys had chance to compose themselves the girl in question began to fire questions.

"Woah, Freak! You managed to snag yourself a new victim? How did you manage to get  _anyone_ to put up with you for longer than a milisecond?" She turned to John next "Sally Donovan, and you are?"

"John." His tone was flat. Unwavering.

"Just John?"

"John Watson, not that it's any of your concern." John's words were laced with anger and he casually moved himself to stand between Sherlock and the girl, it was barely noticeable but Sherlock noticed and his grip on John's hand only became impossibly tighter still.

"Well John Watson, if I were you, I'd leave now, run home and get myself a hobby or rob a bank, anything as long as you're not within spitting distance of this cretin. You shouldn't have given him the time of day, an absolute freak he is! I'm telling you. I bet he already knows every dirty secret you have..." Shots fired. The group of pupils gathering tittering at Sally's taunts.

"Well. Sally? Was it. I think you should fuck right off and mind your own, yeah? You call him a freak? He's hyper-intelligent, a brilliant athlete and down right gorgerous, what're you if nothing but a mouthy bitch?" John's voice remained calm, but that only made the exchange all the more terrifying...

"Oh, you're a poof too! Of course!" She threw her head back, exploding with laughter. "Don't let me keep you now, you must want to go since you had been on your way to have some bum fun. Jesus John! You sure do know how to pick them, go now and take that freak with you."

John stepped closer, he continued to go closer until he and Sally were nose-to-nose. "The only reason you're not on the floor with a broken nose is because I don't hit girls. Now unless you want me to let Sherlock unleash your _dirty_ secrets to all your friends over there... I'd leave us be. Right. Now." His voice was barely a whisper as he stepped away, returning to Sherlock's side. The pair began their walk through the campus once more as John called over his left shoulder, "Oh and Sally. Would you tell your friends if they lay a finger on Sherlock again. I will personally kick seven-bells-of-shite out of them. Thanks."

Leaving behind a gob smacked Sally and an almost silent crowd of onlookers the two boys strutted away, keeping their spines stiff and their chin's up until they were out of sight and outside of Sherlock's dormitory. Neither of them had dared to break the silence that had masked their walk and neither could bring themselves to drop the hand of the boy they had clutched ever so tightly onto.

It was eventually Sherlock who spoke first, unsure, "So... This is my room. I, Uh..."

"Sherlock, are you okay, seriously I know I should've asked back there but I needed to calm down."

"I'm fine, thank you for asking. That um, that thing you did back there. For me. That was Uh-good. Very Good." His loose hand had found his way to his unruly curls, attempting to flatten them, a nervous tic, a bad habit.

John reached up, stilling the hand running through his inky hair. "Sherlock, it was nothing. I would do it again a hundred times over."

"Why would you do that for me? I'm a freak, just like they say. She's right. I think maybe it's best you leave." He wrenched his hands away, searching for his door key in his never ending pockets.

"What're you on about you prat?"

"I'll only poison you over time, John. They say those things about me for a reason, I am not like everyone else, I _am_  a freak, I'm inconsiderate and intrusive and rude and obnoxious and-" His words were cut short as the short boy before him threw his muscular arms around his shoulders, wrenching him down into a bone crushing hug.

"Sherlock Holmes. You're brilliant, bloody fantastic. I'm not staying away from you because I'm not going to leave knowing you think of yourself so lowly." John pulled his head back so that he could look at the galactic orbs the ballerina possessed for eyes, "You're not a freak. You're different, yes, but a freak? No way! You're better than them and you are only going to let them win if you begin to accept their bullshit! God, You're not a freak. Not at all, you're a beautiful dancer and that brain of yours! Christ, I could listen to you all day. I'm rambling aren't I?" A goofy grin spread across his face when the tall boy chuckled.

"Yes John, but I suppose you do say such nice things. So I can let it slide just this once..."

John laughed softly, "You deserve to hear nice things. Let me take you to dinner."

"What?"

"Dinner. It doesn't have to be tonight. But I'm taking you out, away from here. I'll text you."

"That would- Yes. That is... Italian?" Sherlock Holmes, tripping over his own words.

"Italian sounds lovely." Smiles graced both boys' features.

"John, you are aware dinner is quite a romantic gesture, one could presume that it is a date..." It was suggestive enough for the second boy to catch on, little did Sherlock know, that he was already one step ahead of the game.

"Oh Sherlock, I wouldn't expect you to think any less." and with a cheeky wink, John turned on his heel and began his walk across town. He didn't break stride as he grinned at the shell-shocked boy he left behind over his shoulder who slipped elegantly inside the door who paused only to look up and smile back at the retreating figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry It's taken so long to write the third chapter, I've been back at college and it's been super exhausting as I'm sure you'll all appreciate... I'm going to try and write so much more now the work is settling out and I'm starting to get sleep.
> 
> Thankyou all so much for all your comments, I love you all for reading this xxx
> 
> P.S. Sorry its a short chapter.


	4. je t'aime bien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the dinner finally comes about

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a year since I updated. I'm ashamed and slightly horrified, but I have returned nonetheless.  
> Apologies.

After the ordeal on the grounds of St. Judes, John Watson had to trek back into the centre of town past the currently vacant country homes for the privileged towards the other end of the spectrum where houses were overpopulated with families crammed inside. It's funny really. John always saw himself as privileged. He had his rugby team, he got good grades. _Hell!_ He was on his way to becoming a doctor, God willing. He had a roof over his head and food in his belly, kids at school had roofs they shared with seven family members! The most crowded the Watson residence became was when the family patriarch was on leave, otherwise it was himself, Harry and his mum. He knew how well he had it, he knew how much worse he could have it too and so never sought out reasons to complain about the life he led on his side of town. In spite of all of this, he couldn't help but notice how the other half lived as he moved at snail pace down the roads approaching the town centre. These houses were vacated as the families were in their town houses where the work is for the bank managers and the CEOs. These houses sat here with their libraries and drawing rooms silent, the two-door garages remain cold and empty. These people chose where to live on a whim or because of the weather conditions. He couldn't wrap his head around such things, he had heard about them of course, how the _tories_ didn't need to worry about budget cuts because they're sat on piles of cash, practically rolling in it whilst men like his dad fighting for his Queen and Country were paid peanuts. However, it wasn't until today he it sunk in how big the gap was between the two sides of town. He was stood adjacent to a gateway taller than himself whilst the fence of his neighbour's house was all but falling down.

Kicking up piles of snow John's mind couldn't help but think about the leather glove Sherlock had been wearing. Genuine, obviously. Italian, possibly. Holding his had while clad in leather was a fine experience of it's own. It was soft, so soft, probably softer than the skin beneath it and John was certain if he dug his hand from his pocket and held it to his nose he would still be able to smell traces of the leather he had gripped so tightly just minutes before. Then his mind went to the repulsive girl who had stopped them in some sort of valiant effort to save John's soul. She had also come from a life of luxury, it wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure that out. The hand that had gripped onto Sherlock's forearm had been buffed and filed within an inch of it's life, the eyebrows she raised were waxed and shaped with the same precision and the closer John stood the more overwhelmed he became by the fumes of her perfume and hair products. These indicators were there but entirely unnecessary, she was more obviously kitted out head-to-toe in designer clothing, John assumed her underclothes and thermal layers had even cost a small fortune. The more he thought about the money on this side of the small town, the more uncomfortable he became and promptly sped up in order to escape to more familiar territory.

 Without another thought of the vile Sally, John's feet moved faster through the snow as roads had been ploughed and gritted, the pavements shovelled and before he knew it he was back on his doorstep with a streetlight providing all the light he needed to sift through his gym bag for his house keys. Before he could finish his search he heard the click of the lock, John looked up at his mother who stood over the threshold staring back at him with a single eyebrow raised. "John Watson, you're late for dinner." Bugger.

"Sorry, mum. Was just making sure a friend got home. 's'all."

Apparently the sheepish smile John tried didn't satisfy his mother one bit. "Honestly I don't know why I bother to set a curfew if you'll crawl home at any hour that takes your fancy."

"Mum, it's only eleven," John sighed.

"I don't want to hear it, you're dinner is plated in the microwave so, enjoy. You asked for the dry monstrosity that awaits." She stood aside finally letting John enter their home "and I want you in bed in under an hour, that's final. Goodnight son." She kissed the crown of his head as he bent to take of his shoes and departed.

Meanwhile John shuffled in his socks to the kitchen, pressed a few buttons and started the microwave. He lent over to retrieve a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water straight from the tap, without letting it settle he guzzled the entire glass before refilling it once more. Hearing the microwave beep beep beep he took the plate from inside and found his way to the dining table and plonked down in his regular chair. Poking at the beef on his plate he decided the chips held much more promise and stared there. His gaze locked onto the end of the tap from where droplets of water were dripping. Mindlessly shovelling his food, gaze focused, his thoughts turned back to Sherlock Holmes. Enigmatic, rude but hopelessly gorgeous. His sculpted legs, his graceful arms, his bouncy curls and those glorious cheekbones. John could feel himself becoming hot under the collar already, but he knew he didn't want this feeling to stop. He knew he was looking forward to this date with Sherlock Holmes more than comprehensible because he knew Sherlock Holmes would bring something exciting to the table. Knowing this meant that as John Watson curled up underneath his duvet tonight he would have the biggest smile beaming from ear to ear.

 

\-----

 

Across the little town, Sherlock Holmes sat in his dorm room. Legs extended in front of him, he stretched his ankles, rolling them this way and that, as he would every night before retiring to bed whether he planned to succumb to sleep or not. Tonight he did plan to sleep, his mind had grinded to a halt this afternoon and the only thing he could remember since was John Watson oriented and he hoped that when he slept this wouldn't change. Not for tonight anyway. He wanted to dream and fantasise and imagine every scenario no matter how impossible they may be.

John Watson was the first person to treat him in a civilised manner since Molly. In fact, John was the first person to treat him in a more than civilised manner besides his family, he knew that he couldn't afford to mess this up after watching Mycroft, seven years his senior, still remain alone in his home. No, Sherlock had no intention to become like his brother. He had every intention on being as successful in his own career path but now as John presented an opportunity of company, comfort and companionship, Sherlock had every intention of snatching John Watson up and keeping him for himself.

Now he just had to figure out how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the biggest absence from writing known to man, I'm back. I'm determined and I'm writing. So I hope to smash out weekly updates if possible (Starting now it's September as I had a lot to do in theses last few weeks - I turned 18 but grandmahad surgery) So stay with me as I get back into the swing of things and also recover from many many well deserved hangovers.
> 
> I hope you like the new chapter, let me know. Sorry it's so short x


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